A Mindfuck & Fun with Your Balls

Ms Claire with Play with Your Persimmons 800-356-6169

The feel of stone underneath you bites into your knees, but it hardly registers in your mind as the tip of my crop slides from your right knee all the way up your right thigh.  The air suddenly thickens, and your nostrils flare as you try to take in more oxygen.

The old adage “be careful what you wish for” flits through your mind as the tip of the crop teases at your balls before caressing the sweet inner portion of your left thigh.  You’ve dreamed of a female domination session for so long.  As if the realization that it is finally happening wasn’t enough to cause your cock to jerk and weep droplets of pre-cum, the maddening feather touch of leather is more agonizing than any tease and denial experience that you’ve ever had.

My right foot slides forward, and the tip of my glossy black boot shimmys under your scrotum.  I jiggle my foot, and we both watch as your nuts move in time with the motion.

The devilish crop brushes over the top of them before a SMACK SMACK is delivered.  Your pelvis tilts upward in shock, and you want to recoil.

But you don’t.

My boot slips out from under your nutsack, then the sole lightly presses against it.  I apply a tad more pressure, then lighter, then harder again…rocking my foot back and forth while dragging the crop over your cock, slapping it with the edge a few times in rapid succession.

Then the end slides upward…over your belly, up your chest, over your throat, and it positions under your chin.  A flick of my wrist gives another smack, indicating that you should look upward.

You raise your eyes, and see something dangling from my left hand.  My eyes waltz in mirth as I see the confusion on your face.

“Persimmons, dearheart.  Have you never heard of them?”

Not having permission to speak, you shake your head mutely, looking at the two orange orbs that are lumped together in what appears to be the toe end of one of my discarded stockings.

I raise the crop to them, and give them a light swat.  The wattage on my smile increases as I look down at you.

“One eats them.  Though I have no plans to do so tonight.  Tonight…well…they rather remind me of something…”  As my voice trails off, the pressure from my boot increases to an uncomfortable level.  And my smile grows ever brighter.

“What do you think?  Do they remind you of anything, hanging there like that?”  The pressure dissipates, then increases again.

Suddenly, as if a cartoon light bulb went off over your head, you watch as the crop strikes them again, and they sway freely, and you KNOW.  A rapid nod of your head answers my question.

“Ah, I thought you’d see things my way.  They rather look like these, don’t they?” I ask as I roll my boot under your balls again before resuming the teasing touch of the crop.

“Since they look similar, I want you to pay close attention.”

I place the knotted stocking on the floor between your legs, and the edge of one of the plump fruits brushes against your thigh. I rotate my ankle, and in a flash, my foot has moved away from your nuts, my heel has lifted off the floor, and the persimmons are flattened under the ball of my boot.

You watch in fascinated horror as I grind the pair between boot and floor, then I lean back, and casually lift the sole toward your mouth.

“Lick it clean, boy.”  And as you open your mouth to do so, you feel my left boot push against your balls again.  A shudder ripples through you, and a laugh pours out into the semi-darkness.

“What’s the matter?  You wanted a strict mistress, didn’t you?

Your eyes huge, you nod while servicing the bottom of my boot, and try not to flinch when the crop stings your cock again.